


Bearing

by tatou



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatou/pseuds/tatou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What comes after the mating months, and how it affects them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bearing

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicating this to [Paw](http://pawprintsandsnowflakes.tumblr.com/) because we are both sick individuals who like torturing ourselves with sad headcanons/ideas. <3

 

“Gonna fill you up.”

Jack moans, licks at the furry paw that strokes his cheek.

“Please.” He says, an invitation.

“Fill you up and make you have my kits.” Bunymund continues, arching with a tight gasp as his slender hips drive upwards, slowly into Jack.

He’s used to this, by now.

They’ve gone through 9 whole months of this sort of talk. It doesn’t bother Jack, not in the least. He finds it wonderful,  _amazing_  that Bunnymund would choose  _him_  to father his children.

But he can’t, of course. They both know it. However, Jack knows that in these particular months Bunnymund’s mind is so clouded by lust and the urge to reproduce that all logical thought falls from his mind and is dashed to pieces instantly.

“Y-yeah.” He pants, leans up on his elbows to kiss sloppily at Bunny’s neck, dragging his lips up a silky scruff. It’s hard to focus on his words when Bunny’s fucking so torturously into him, his cock paying lavish attention to Jack’s prostate. “Give it to me, Bunny. Hnnn-I’ll have your young.”

The growl Bunnymund releases is absolutely feral, unrestrained; he bites sharply into Jack’s shoulder, a ragged groan sauntering forth as he pushes hard into Jack.

“Take it.” He snarls, and when he pulls away his teeth are bloody. Jack doesn’t care; he wants more, so much more. The pain in his shoulder doesn’t register; he’s mindless with pleasure, his nerves fraught with desire and lust. For a moment he finds himself wishing he  _could_  have Bunnymund’s kits, make him proud, make him happy.

“Fucking  _harder_.” He hisses, shivering when Bunnymund presses a paw to the flat of his belly and strokes.

“You were made for this.” Bunnymund says, bending to lick a hot stripe up Jack’s belly. “For me.”

Jack can only whine in agreement, his voice lost in the thick air that hangs above them, smelling heavily of sex and sweat.

He goes along with it because he wants Bunnymund to be happy.

Sometimes he wonders if it’s cruel of him to do so.

Jack knows how it affects Bunny, how in the days after he comes down from that mating craze he becomes quiet and subdued, a ghost of disappointment. It’s then that the realization comes: that Jack  _can’t_ have his kits, that he’ll never have a full family again. That urge to reproduce is what causes this all, they both know, and sometimes Jack can’t help but hate it, hates seeing Bunnymund so tortured by something he can’t have.

The grief that comes after those nine months is crushing, and oftentimes Bunnymund will make every possible effort to hide himself from Jack.

Jack knows it’s because Bunnymund wants solitude and some space to think, but he can’t let the Pooka go through this on his own, either. So this time Jack knows where to look, and he goes there on silent feet, not caring to fly.

He remembers a story Bunnymund told him once: five kits held carefully in his arms, their fur gray and beautiful as his own. In the chaos and devastation of the darkness and the end it brought, he hid them beneath a sentinel, fought hard and bloody to protect them. He fell when a shadowy hand struck hard at his cheek, knocking his head against the sentinel and falling to the ground, seeming dead.

When he woke, he was no longer in the Warren, and it was days before Bunnymund realized-or was told, rather-why he was being kept alive.

Jack doesn’t know what happened after that. Bunny refuses to tell him and falls silent at any mention or inquiry of it.

The sentinel he stands before now is the one Bunny had described in his story. It’s marked with protective symbols, Bunny told him once.

Not that it did them any good, he’d whispered after, his eyes distant.

The symbols, now thousands of years old, have nearly chipped off with age, old and quietly showcasing a language that no longer exists. Thick clusters of white flowers are grouped along its front, clinging to the mossy structure.

Letting out a soft sigh, Jack pads silently behind it, finding the tunnel hidden behind and beneath its ancient stony surface.

When he finds Bunny, his heart comes close to breaking.

Curled up in a mossy nest, Bunnymund’s eyes are dull and glassy with tears-a sight Jack has seen only once before, when Pitch was still at large.

Now, it’s a thousand times worse, because he recognizes the devastating loneliness in those emerald eyes.

Bunnymund doesn’t say anything when he sees Jack enter. He only curls further into himself, a tight gray ball of remorse. He’s long since learned to cope, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

Jack kneels in the soft earth, pulling what he can of the Pooka into his arms. Stroking cool hands through that soft fur, he presses a gentle kiss to Bunny’s neck, his eyes soft and sad.

“I love you.” Jack whispers, tufts of fur brushing against his moving lips.

Bunnymund shifts a little, nudging his nose gently at Jack’s palm, a sign of appreciation. “Love you too.”

 


End file.
